


let's forget about reality just for now

by spndrea



Category: EXO (Band), SHINee, SuperM (Korea Band)
Genre: Angst, At least I think it's angst, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, I Tried, M/M, Pining, at the end, sehun is only there for like two scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 06:57:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17055281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spndrea/pseuds/spndrea
Summary: From the slight scrunch of Taemin's nose when he laughed or the way he’d blink too fast and too frequently when he was nervous, to the delicate sight his fingers bared while playing some nameless composition on the piano or the way his chest heaved after dancing for hours on end; Jongin didn’t want to look away.(He doesn’t think he’d be able to, anyway.)





	let's forget about reality just for now

**Author's Note:**

> so, one day, i saw [this gif](https://twitter.com/twitter/statuses/1026602338855923712) on twitter and impulsively started to write this story. i hope you'll enjoy the outcome!

“How long?”

“I don’t know. Ten years? More, probably.”

“It’s twelve.”

“Why ask me if you know anyway?”

Taemin laughs, head rolling to look forward again from where his eyes had been trained on Jongin sitting next to him with his back propped against the wall. Jongin’s gaze lingered – it seemed to happen more often, these days – and his laugh faltered just the slightest bit, breath getting caught in his throat _just so_ that Jongin doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep without rolling in bed thinking about it for two hours that night.

 _Beautiful,_ his mind inquired, eyes still trained on the profile of Taemin’s face. _So, so-_

“I’m just seeing how much you know about our friendship. Apparently not so much,” Taemin said, cutting off Jongin’s trailing thoughts with a voice laced with barely contained laughter and unceasing lightness.

Jongin shoved his shoulder against Taemin’s playfully, choking out a, “Shut _up,_ ” that made Taemin finally burst out laughing and Jongin unable to do anything but join in as Taemin leaned into his side, body shaking with the wheezing laughs urging Jongin to wonder when he’d began to think of the sounds as the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

 _Well,_ Jongin thinks as his chest tightens even more once Taemin’s hand comes to rest on his thigh, _this is something to worry about._

 

-

 

It seemed that, from that point on, Jongin became increasingly and painfully aware of every little thing that was Taemin.

From the slight scrunch of his nose when he laughed or the way he’d blink too fast and too frequently when he was nervous, to the delicate sight his fingers bared while playing some nameless composition on the piano or the way his chest heaved after dancing for hours on end; Jongin didn’t want to look away.

(He doesn’t think he’d be able to, anyway.)

It’s not shocking, not really. Jongin thinks he’s always found himself thinking about Taemin, always felt that extra _something_ somewhere in the back of his mind, however never bothered to acknowledge what might not even be there, what didn’t affect him at the moment.

It’s certainly affecting him right now, lying in his bed and staring at the blank ceiling, polaroids on the wall next to him with pictures of him and his friends - _of him and Taemin_ \- fluttering in the soft night breeze entering the room through the ajar window.

Jongin was an overthinker by nature, the smallest things making him stay up while everything around him was otherwise silent, face scrunching up in thought and fingers fiddling with his blanket as his mind ran over the most trivial of things that happened that day.

Taemin used to make him forget; forget about overthinking, about all these thoughts clouding his mind until there was a headache pounding behind his eyes, until he couldn’t fall asleep despite the horizon already turning blue again.

It was nothing but a habit, really, to be on the phone with Taemin for an hour straight nearly every day. An outlet for both Jongin and Taemin to talk about their days, to complain about their schedules, to laugh at nothing in particular, to just know that someone was there, right on the other line, to simply _listen._

Taemin used to always be the exception, his only place where Jongin didn’t need to think.

(He’s not anymore.)

(Jongin doesn’t know what to do with that.)

 

-

 

Awkwardness was never a part of Jongin’s friendship with Taemin.

They’d always seemed to just fit, to click in the most natural of ways. Jongin would never think twice about what to say or how to act, whether to throw his arm around Taemin or grab his hand to play with his fingers, sliding the countless rings from the digits and rearranging them like some sort of puzzle not yet solved.

Jongin doesn’t know why he’s suddenly wary about getting too close, about seeming too _intrigued,_ maybe. It’s not what he’s used to.

Jongin also doesn’t know why he acts like he _doesn’t know._ He does. Maybe it’s because he knows all too well - is too aware of the fact that there’s something stronger than friendship coaxing him to curl his hand around Taemin’s wrist or to slide his fingers through Taemin’s hair or his palm along the small of Taemin’s back.

It’s so awfully obvious that it would be hilarious had it not been for the dull ache being continuously sent through Jongin’s chest whenever he would find himself flinching away from one of Taemin’s touches or would let his hand linger mere inches above Taemin’s skin, just shy of brushing over it.

Taemin sometimes eyed Jongin’s hand suspiciously, undeniably having picked up on the sudden small distances Jongin put between them. It made Jongin want to move a few steps closer again, made his fingers twitch with the urge to let them rest somewhere on Taemin’s skin.

(Is he going crazy?)

Taemin questioned if he was okay, once; if they were alright, if Jongin was sick. It made Jongin sigh and mentally punch himself for making Taemin think that way when _Jongin_ was the one unable to control his emotions, unable to be a normal best friend to Taemin.

Jongin had shrugged it off then, grabbing his water bottle from where it was resting next to the speakers in the corner of the practice room, music still reverberating softly through the space. He could feel Taemin’s stare burn the back of his neck. It made Jongin gulp down the whole bottle.

(He thinks he is.)

Practice had been tense after that, both of them aware of _something_ between them, of Jongin desperately holding himself back.

His muttered excuse of being tired and wanting to head back to the dorm sounded ridiculous even to Jongin’s own ears. Never had they left before the clock struck midnight – especially not before the moon had risen over the grand buildings surrounding them -, their thing having always been _arrive the earliest, leave the latest._ Jongin didn’t even try to sound convincing.

Taemin’s murmured, _“okay,”_ left Jongin feeling guilty and hollow the whole way home, didn’t allow him to face his members before sliding into his bed, trying not to let his mind run too fast.

Jongin couldn’t catch himself.

 

-

 

Their silent agreement of meeting in the practice room whenever neither of them had schedules was broken by Jongin with a text claiming he _wasn’t feeling well._ It left his whole being cold and his mouth taste bitter as if the words typed had escaped his mouth.

Taemin didn’t reply. Jongin didn’t really want him to.

 

-

 

Avoiding Taemin wasn’t going to work forever, Jongin knew that. By the end of the first week of trying to get over himself, he could feel the stares of his members start to turn from curious to worried.

“Hey,” Baekhyun said one evening, joining Jongin on the couch while eating the leftover pizza from the night before. “You’ve been inside a lot, lately.”

He knew the cautious wording was just another way to get Jongin to talk about why he hadn’t skipped dinner every second night because he stayed late to dance with Taemin. Jongin had to refrain from sighing.

“Well, you know,” Jongin started, not really knowing what to say. Baekhyun sat up a bit straighter. “Just thought I’d rest for a bit.”

It was a lame excuse, one not even Baekhyun would let him get away with.

“You? Resting voluntarily?” He asked, letting a humorous laugh lace his voice. Jongin forced himself to return a smile.

“You guys always tell me to slow down and stuff, thought I’d see where that takes me.” Jongin grabbed a piece from the pizza just so Baekhyun wouldn’t expect him to speak more.

He simply raised his eyebrows, though returning to nibbling at the crust of his own piece. Jongin let out an inaudible sigh, wondering what exactly it meant that the people around him noticed when he wasn’t spending time with Taemin.

The thought made his chest hurt enough to make him grab his phone and open his texts with Taemin, typing out a curt _Practice tomorrow?_ without giving himself time to mull over it before tapping send.

He’ll blame Baekhyun if he messes up.

 

-

 

As he was walking, Jongin wasn’t sure whether he wanted to take the familiar shortcut through the park or stick to the longer road in front of him.

His hands were shaking where he had them stuffed into his jacket pockets, his stomach feeling unsteady and tight. His head seemed to be pounding with everything pacing through his mind, every least-possible scenario playing out like a bad dream.

He tried distracting himself by crunching every fallen leaf underneath the soles of his feet while still walking to the beat of the music thrumming through his headphones, and he ended up taking the usual route to practice – there were more leaves in the park – though slightly regretting the decision once he arrived at the doors leading inside way too fast. Should've chosen a slower song.

He pushed the doors open before making his way up the stairs. He’d usually take the elevator, not really keen on walking up multiple flights of stairs just before dancing, but Jongin thinks it goes without explaining that he’d take any excuse to be late by now.

However, it still didn’t take longer than five minutes before Jongin stood in front of the practice room, door closed and a blurry shape only distinguishable through the milky glass if you knew who you were expecting. Jongin knew.

Jongin’s lips pulled up slightly at their corners as he took a breath, hand finally pushing down against the door handle and pushing the door open.

“Hey,” he said, low voice still seeming too loud in the silent room.

Taemin turned around then, gaze locking with Jongin’s. He thinks they both don’t want to address the dark shadows under the other’s eyes.

“Hey,” Taemin responded, voice empty in a way that made Jongin grimace slightly. The harsh frown on Taemin’s face didn’t help.

“So I guess you decided it was worth talking to me again, huh?” His voice wasn’t angry, though Jongin was sure Taemin was boiling inside. It was what made it all this bad; that reserved tone, like Taemin didn’t let himself be _himself._ Like he felt there was some glass wall between them that couldn’t be shattered.

Jongin shook his head, trying to keep himself from averting his eyes. He had never been good with confrontations. “I’m sorry,” he finally said as strongly as he could muster, knowing that those words were far from enough to excuse himself.

Everything in him made Jongin want to step closer, to draw Taemin into a hug that would let the visible tension bleed out of his body, to let his fingers feel the warmth of Taemin’s skin again.

He couldn’t.

Because Taemin’s expression screamed at him to continue, to explain _what the hell_ had been going on with him. Oh, how Jongin wished he could.

“I was just,” he started eventually, thumbing at the zipper of his jacket, “really in my head, I guess. I don’t know, I couldn’t talk to anyone.”

It wasn’t a lie, but the half-truth still made Jongin want to choke up, especially when Taemin’s face contorted into an expression of worry. “You always talk to me, though. And you always can, you know that,” he said, his voice so, _so_ soft it made Jongin’s throat close up.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Jongin breathed out, not trusting his voice wholly. “I don’t- I didn’t want to bother you, I guess.”

Taemin rolled his eyes, walking closer to Jongin until they could be touching if either of them were to reach forward. “You never bother me, shut up. Don’t shut me out like that again, I thought you were mad at me.”

Jongin lowered his head, locking his gaze on Taemin’s ratty converse. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t mad at you, definitely not.”

Jongin felt Taemin’s arms drag him closer until their chests were pressed together, warm hands splayed wide on Jongin’s back, his chin moving to rest on Taemin’s shoulder and trying not to get too lost in the feeling of Taemin’s warmth surrounding his whole being.

Taemin seemed to heave a deep breath before pulling away again, leaving a smaller distance than before between them and Jongin trying not to shiver at the sudden coldness seizing through his body.

Jongin felt a light smile form on his lips upon seeing Taemin’s lips stretched upwards, eyes crinkling at the edges and cheeks budging out. His chest was lighter than it had been in a while. He wondered how long it was going to stay that way.

Taemin’s fingers let go of the grip they had on Jongin’s wrist, the last of Taemin’s warmth now gone, and Jongin’s chest tightened up. He tried to concentrate on the wheezy laughs and lightened-up expressions from Taemin whenever either of them made a bad joke or brought up a dumb dance move from their trainee days. It worked.

(Did it?)

 

-

 

They were okay.

They never _weren’t._ Jongin couldn't remember a time they fought or even had an argument bigger than either of them not resting enough or insisting that the other did a dance move wrong. It's how they worked.

Easily, naturally. So in synch that it should be scaring Jongin more than it did.

Not that Jongin wasn’t scared. He was positively terrified of the consistent tugging his heart seemed to give whenever Taemin’s eyes caught his, of the way his lungs didn’t seem to let in air anymore whenever Taemin’s hand lingered on his skin for a few moments too long, of the tingle in his fingers as he wouldn’t let himself trace the countless moles dotting Taemin’s arms, neck, thighs.

Jongin tried – almost desperately – not to acknowledge it, because acknowledging something would make it real, and Jongin didn’t know how to deal with _this_ as soon as it became real. It was idiotic, he knew.

The warmth pooling inside his chest was bordering on painful as Taemin sat next to him on the couch, their sides pressed together, Taemin’s legs resting over Jongin’s.

Moments like these made Jongin question whether he had gotten as good at ignoring _this_ as he’d thought. His heart was beating erratically. He hoped Taemin couldn’t hear it over the so-lame-it-was-funny horror movie they put on.

It was dark enough outside that the only source of light came from the television; blue flashes basking the room in dim light, illuminating Taemin’s face next to him just enough for Jongin to make out the small smile playing on his lips and the widening of his eyes when the volume of the movie heightened with an awful jumpscare.

Jongin finds himself absentmindedly tapping some rhythm against the soft fabric of Taemin’s sweatpants, trying not to let his mind wander once he finds Taemin’s fingers imitating the motion.

Jongin's other hand twitches at his side, and he can't help but eye Taemin's palm resting just next to his thigh. It'd be so easy to reach over, let the insistent pull inside of him rest, give in to the desire of wanting the softness of Taemin's hand against his.

It’s not like they hadn’t held hands before. There had been countless times where their fingers were tangled together tightly, palms sweaty against each other but still not separated. It’s never been quite like this, though; never been just them, always having been surrounded by ten or ten thousand people.

Jongin raises his hand; lets it hover inches above Taemin’s as he studies the side of his face. Jongin really hopes he won’t turn his head – the streetlamp outside just flickered on and caught Taemin’s dark eyes just right, made the orange glint reflect in the dark brown just on the side of too consuming.

Jongin moved his hand back, let it drop to his side.

(Don’t ruin it.)

 

-

 

Resting his hand on Taemin’s shoulder had come naturally again. Jongin wondered if he finally got over himself.

He knew he didn’t. _Wouldn’t._

He realized that whenever Taemin’s smile would light up his entire face, his laugh shaking his entire body, sounding so careless, so in-the-moment it kind of made Jongin unable to join in as well, too immersed in the sight. Realized it whenever Taemin would unconsciously slide his hand over Jongin’s arm or knock his ankle against Jongin’s as they sat on a couch, or whenever he’d look at Jongin with such a fixing gaze whenever Jongin would talk about something, tell an old story, that Jongin would have to look away lest he stumble over his words.

Jongin didn’t really know why he’d even try getting over himself. The list of reasons on why he _wouldn’t_ was long enough. The fact that he had a mental list of things that Taemin did that made it impossible for Jongin to go back to simply seeing him as a best friend was enough to prove that, he supposes.

Right now, though, with his arm around Taemin’s shoulders as they walked around the dark park with soft conversation flowing between them, Jongin thinks he’s come to manage himself better by now.

As they sat down under a tree just barely illuminated by a close-by street lamp, Jongin only able to barely distinguish the soft curve of Taemin’s cheekbones, the fast flutter of his eyelashes as he blinks almost erratically – another too-specific thing Jongin has come to associate with Taemin –, the strong line of his neck, the plush contour of his lips, the slight reflection of light hitting the pink skin whenever Taemin wets them with his tongue-

Jongin shouldn’t have to restrain himself from kissing Taemin. It doesn’t keep the thought from forming in his head time and time again, though.

Jongin is an overthinker, sleepless nights or early mornings leaving him alone with his mind, alone with the thoughts of what Taemin’s lips would feel like on his, what it would feel like to have Taemin’s mouth open under his own, what Taemin’s hands would feel like on his body while having other intents than just offering a friendly gesture. What it would feel like to have Taemin, wholly and truly, in every way.

It left him staying awake longer and longer, head whirring and heart pounding and sweat beading on his forehead because _he shouldn’t be thinking this, this isn’t fair to Taemin, isn’t fair to his best friend._

Jongin still hoped to relive those thoughts in his dreams each night.

He tried to lean back against the bark of the tree without it looking too shaky, too forced. Tried to move away from Taemin the slightest bit. Tried to not do something completely and utterly stupid.

Taemin kept talking animatedly, hands gesturing wildly as his eyes seemed to shimmer with the light the old street lamp offered, gaze still trained on Jongin as if there wasn’t anything else he would even spare a _glance_ at.

(Don’t let yourself dream.)

 

-

 

Sometimes, Jongin would get too lost in his mind.

Dancing in the fluorescent lights of the practice room always made time seem unreal, made one minute feel like one hour or one hour feel like mere seconds.

Jongin doesn’t know how long he’d been dancing to the same few songs from the playlist Taemin had made for him once; just knows that it’s well into the night, with the moon reflecting in the big mirror in front of him and no sounds coming in from the cracked-open windows.

Jongin is sitting on the floor, listening to whatever song started playing on shuffle, picking at the loose threads of his old sneakers. His phone told him it was nearing four in the morning, and Jongin wanted to groan at the fact that the last bus had left without him barely ten minutes ago when he'd been just barely aware of what moves he was dancing, his mind overcome with the image of the softness in Taemin's expression as he had shown the song to Jongin.

Jongin pulled at the strands of his hair slightly as he scrolled through his phone, tapping on his favorite contacts before selecting Taemin’s. He wondered if Taemin was going to kill him for calling him at four in the morning because he couldn’t catch the last bus back.

It only took five rings for Taemin to pick up, a groggy, “Jongin?” sounding through the phone’s speakers.

“I’m sorry for waking you up but I’m, uh, kind of stuck here-“

Taemin laughed quietly. “Did you miss the bus again?”

Jongin closed his eyes, lips curling into a smile. He tried not to let the sound of Taemin’s raspy voice take over his senses. He sighed. “Yeah, I lost track of time, and I didn’t want to wake up my members.”

Jongin could hear some shuffling on the other end of the line, the sound of a blanket being moved away. “Oh, but you wanted to wake _me?_ ”

Taemin’s tone was playful in a way that made Jongin unable to cover up the laugh bubbling in his throat. “Don’t act like you forgot the time you got lost in a park in the middle of the night and I had to track you down at three in the morning.”

Taemin’s laugh resonated through Jongin’s ears. It made his smile just a bit wider.

“Okay, okay,” Taemin rasped, “be outside in ten. You better pay for our iced-teas next time.”

With a promise that he would buy Taemin two if he asked, the connection cut off.

 

The cool breeze outside shook Jongin awake a bit, the exhaustion settled deep in his bones alleviating with every deep breath he took as he waited for the familiar shape of Taemin’s car to round the corner.

The silence surrounding him made Jongin still able to hear the raspy tone of Taemin’s voice, the quiet sound of his laugh, the soft sound of his sighs. Jongin wondered what that said about him; having someone’s voice invade his mind when nothing else was there to distract him, even if the last source of that voice had been a phone call nearly ten minutes ago.

It was just then that the headlights came into view and had Jongin squinting against the brightness. He picked up his bag from the ground and swung it over his shoulder, stepping onto the road once Taemin’s car came to a stop next to him.

“Hey there,” Taemin greeted once Jongin had settled into the passenger seat, carelessly dropping his bag in the back.

Jongin sat back against his seat, turning slightly to look at Taemin; all messy hair and only half-open eyes and imprints from his pillow on one cheek. Jongin mirrored the slight upturn of Taemin’s lips.

“Hi,” he said then, probably breathier than usual. He hopes Taemin will think it’s because of the hours of practice he was absorbed in. “Thanks for picking me up.”

Taemin looked over to him for just a moment before focusing back on the road. “Can’t have you sleeping in the practice room without me, can I?”

Jongin laughed slightly, mind going back to the time they’d pulled yoga mats from the storage closets to sleep on when they’d stayed to practice for too long, both of them too tired to return to their respective dorms or too resistant to be apart from each other. Jongin knew which one was the case for him. He hoped it was the same for Taemin.

Taemin’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Did you eat anything today?”

Jongin frowned. “A bit. Why?”

“Well, you forgot the time while dancing. It’d be no surprise if you also forgot to eat.”

“Are you saying I’m forgetful?” Jongin asked, playful tone lacing his voice. Taemin breathed out a soft laugh into the air between them. “You tend to be, yeah.”

Jongin softly hit Taemin’s right arm, receiving a dramatic gasp in return. “I’m starting to think you only came to pick me up to bully me,” Jongin then said, laughter barely contained in his chest.

Taemin turned his head towards him as they stopped at a red light, a smug look adorning his face that still somehow managed to leave Jongin unable to pull in air into his lungs. “Where would the fun be if I didn’t?”

It wasn’t even a second later that Taemin let his wide grin be joined by wheezy laughter, Jongin not able to do anything else but join in.

Jongin had to keep his knee from jerking away once he felt Taemin’s hand coming to rest on top of it, fingers tapping to the random song playing softly on the radio. Jongin had only now become aware of the music filling the car.

He could feel the warmth from Taemin’s hand even through his thick sweatpants, the heat seemingly radiating through his entire body from where Taemin’s hand was laying firmly on the soft material. The rhythm of his fingers sometimes matched up with the erratic beating of Jongin’s heart.

Jongin only realized they weren’t driving in the direction of Jongin’s dorm after a good five minutes, gaze too focused on the grip Taemin’s hand had on his lower thigh. He tried not to imagine the grasp moving higher.

“Hey,” he said, interrupting his racing thoughts, “where are we going?”

Taemin paused the steady tapping of his fingers in favor of simply drawing slow circles with them, _unconsciously,_ Jongin tried to remind himself over and over again. Taemin heaved a soft breath. “I’m taking you to eat. I meant the part about you being too forgetful to have normal meals.”

Jongin shook his head, clearing his throat slightly. “You don’t have to. You’re already losing sleep over having to pick me up because I couldn’t keep my eyes on the time, you deserve to rest- “

Taemin squeezed Jongin’s thigh to make him cut off his speech with a yelp. “Shush, I’m here because I want to be. I could’ve hung up on you or pretended to be asleep, just how I could’ve simply driven you home instead of trying to find a good enough diner that’s still open at this hour.”

Jongin looked at Taemin for a moment; letting himself stare at Taemin’s focused expression for just a moment as he registered the words. He bit his lip to suppress the smile forming on his face, laced his fingers together in his lap to keep himself from dropping his hand onto Taemin’s still laying on his thigh.

They didn’t talk much during the drive, a comfortable silence only broken by the occasional comment made by Taemin or Jongin as they passed the mostly already-closed restaurants or too shady-looking diners.

It took another few minutes for Taemin to finally give in and stop in front of a lit-up diner, the bright lights of the signs telling them that it was open 24/7.

Jongin didn’t recognize the place; barely even knew where they were, though he didn’t think twice about getting out of the car with Taemin to walk into the small diner, taking notice of the few people sitting in the booths by the window or chatting with the waiters standing by the bar.

He followed Taemin to one of the tables, gaze still darting around the restaurant. It was comfortable – the lights dim but still bright enough to leave everything easily distinguishable, though basking the walls in a soft orange hue to contrast the darkness lingering outside.

As they sat opposite each other and didn’t talk, Jongin tried not to look at the way the soft light threw harsh shadows over Taemin’s face but still left him looking so bright in a way that Jongin couldn’t explain.

“You okay?” Taemin’s voice sounded in front of him, making Jongin snap back from his thoughts.

“Yeah,” he rasped, clearing his throat right after, “yeah. Just tired, I guess.”

"We can take the food to-go if you want." Taemin's face turned worried, slightly empathetic.

Jongin thought about having to sit opposite Taemin, forcing down food even though the sight in front of him would leave his stomach clenching. Thought about the light hitting Taemin’s eyes in a way that made them seem to hold all the stars inside of them. Thought about the tingling in his fingers as Taemin’s hand lay just an inch away from his.

“You wouldn’t mind?” He asked.

Taemin only smiled lightly before calling a waiter over.

 

Jongin was thankful for the quiet music coming from the radio, even if he didn’t know the song currently playing. At least there was something to disrupt the stifling silence in the car.

It was probably only Jongin being paranoid, but the air around them felt tense, no longer comforting or welcome but seemingly charged with awkwardness. It made Jongin jump back to when he’d wanted to avoid Taemin all those weeks ago.

Taemin seemed to take Jongin’s closed-up demeanor as him simply being tired. He didn’t seem to be affected, fingers once again tapping the rhythm to the song playing against the leather of the steering wheel.

Jongin ate the fries sitting in his lap quietly, wincing whenever his hand would rustle the paper bag too loudly, cutting through the silence harshly.

Jongin hated this; the uncomfortable air that seemed to separate them, the dropping feeling in his stomach whenever he opened his mouth to say something, making him snap it shut again, afraid to make himself feel even more awkward, even more cautious.

It felt like he was walking on ice around himself whenever he was with Taemin, every too harsh step or too bold move risking him to break in, to be unable to get back to the surface, unable to get back to himself.

Though, Jongin wondered, was he even _himself_ right now?

Everything inside of him screamed _No –_ he will only be himself once he manages to figure _this_ out, once he stops being a coward and gives a name to _this_ , faces it, takes the next step on the thinning ice.

Jongin turns his head to face Taemin, catches his gaze as if he’d been looking at Jongin for the whole time already, holds out the bag of fries and smiles. It comes easy, especially when Taemin mirrors his expression with an even wider smile, an even softer look, and grabs a handful of fries shamelessly.

He stuffs them in his mouth while looking at Jongin, nearly choking as they laugh too hard for two adults at nearly five in the morning driving by the same eerie restaurants they’d passed by earlier.

Taemin’s hand comes back to rest on the same spot on Jongin’s thigh that had been left cold since Taemin had retracted his palm outside the diner.

(Jongin doesn’t want to hope.)

(He does, anyway.)

 

-

 

After that, Jongin thinks he’s getting used to it.

Getting used to the sweaty palms, the hammering heartbeat, the shaky hands, the tightening in his chest. Getting used to the nights spent lying awake staring at his ceiling no longer being filled by his mind replaying any possible mistakes he’d made that day or any stupid thing he’d said a week ago, but rather with the way Taemin had smiled, had laughed, had shoved at Jongin’s shoulder, had let his finger’s draw random patterns across Jongin’s forearm.

Not to say that any of that had lessened. Jongin just thinks it’s become part of himself, almost.

Jongin tries not to dwell on the fact that no amount of _getting used to it_ will make the bordering-on-painful squeeze in his chest disappear, will make his mind stop feeling numb during dark nights not allowing him to sleep, to let go of his thoughts.

Sometimes, at the darkest points of the night, Jongin will let himself bask in the idea of Taemin’s touches meaning something more, too – meaning the same they do for Jongin.

He’d think about the way Taemin’s hands would always come to rest on his thigh, against his shoulder, along his waist. He’d think about the way Taemin’s eyes would soften whenever he’d look at Jongin, the way his mouth would curl up in a seemingly involuntary smile – like it didn’t take any effort at all, like it was the most natural reaction to looking at Jongin.

He’d think about Taemin’s fingers reaching out to brush Jongin’s too-long bangs away from his eyes, about the way his gaze seemed to only be focused on _Jongin_ and _Jongin only_ whenever he was telling some story about his day, about practice that week, about the still-weird life in the dorms.

Sometimes, the lines between real and fake seemed to blur; had Taemin’s hand lingered that long? Had Taemin dragged his fingers along Jongin’s neck? Had Jongin taken off one of Taemin’s countless rings adorning his fingers before stuffing it into his pocket while directing a teasing look at Taemin?

The soft glint of silver jewelry in the dim light of the moon at least confirmed the latter to be real.

Jongin didn’t want hope growing inside of him, didn’t want to imagine things that won’t become reality, that are going to leave him miserable but none the smarter.

Because, as often as he’d told himself just that, Jongin would always find himself back in his bed, lost in his mind, drawing out the thoughts of Taemin’s warm hands sliding over his arm, his neck, his chest.

Jongin would wake up feeling guilty – the feeling seizing inside his stomach, leaving Jongin unable to eat without being left feeling sick. He didn’t know if he felt guilty because he was thinking about _Taemin,_ or because it left him feeling like _this._ Like he deserved to have the world collapse upon him.

It’s a bit of both, most likely.

(He’s getting used to it.)

Because whenever they’re out together, Jongin won’t flinch away with every touch of Taemin’s hands, won’t find his fingers shaking or his head spinning with every intent look Taemin casts on him.

And if his palms would still be sweaty and his heart would still beat too fast and his chest would still tighten and his eyes would still be unable to stop looking at Taemin, he thinks he would have to find a way to deal with that.

(He’s getting there.)

 

-

 

Turns out, seeing Taemin again always destroys whatever hope Jongin had of getting used to it.

And turns out, he _couldn’t_ deal with his physical reactions to everything Taemin did, to every thought Jongin had about him. It was bordering on being horrible, because it seemed to become worse and worse with every time he’d see Taemin’s bright eyes, his soft smile, his slightly-too-long hair, the almost-harsh red of his lips.

Not completely horrible, though; not with the occasional easy warmth filling his entire being when he’d hear Taemin’s scratchy voice once he was tired at the end of a practice session, or when he’d catch sight of the way he’d throw his head back as harsh laughter would be spilling over his lips after listening to a god-awful joke from Jongin.

It was enough to keep Jongin from drawing back, from isolating himself to prevent falling further into the endless pit he had already stumbled into.

He thinks the tired look adorning Taemin’s face as he _still_ kept his gaze on Jongin like there wasn’t anything else to look at would be more than enough to make him stay for a lifetime and longer, already.

"You're quiet," Taemin's low voice then sounded from where he was turned around in the car seat to be able to lean against the door, legs sprawled over the middle and onto Jongin's own seat.

Jongin looked up from where he sat similarly, though with his legs crossed on the soft seat. “Just thinking,” he said, gaze finding Taemin’s already laying on him.

Taemin made a questioning hum, righting himself up a bit, the foot that had been resting against Jongin’s shin now moving back. Jongin cleared his throat. “Nothing special. Just- everything, I guess.” _You._

Taemin laughed haughtily, the sound weirdly fitting to the quiet filling the car. “That sounds pretty special to me.”

Jongin doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say – has no good answer to Taemin’s question, just resolves to shrugging his shoulders with a smile, reaching for his water sitting on the dashboard. He downs half the bottle.

Taemin then pulls his legs back, crossing his legs like Jongin, leaning forward a bit in a way that would be too close for Jongin had it not been Taemin who was crowding into his personal space. “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he started, voice low but intent, soft but clear. “Is there something on your mind?”

The question catches Jongin off-guard, even if he should’ve expected it. Taemin probably knew him more than Jongin himself did; knew more about how to stop Jongin from overthinking to the point of no return, knew more about when to throw in quick jabs or when to utter soft words to keep Jongin from spiraling in his own thoughts.

Jongin swallowed the lump in his throat. It built right up again. “Why’re you asking?” He then voiced, hoping that he didn’t sound as unsure as he felt.

Taemin shuffled in his seat, finger’s coming to play with his rings sitting on his middle finger. “I don’t know. You’ve just been- different? Not bad or anything, just kinda absent, or more in your head than usual.”

The gaze Taemin has on him is intense in a way only Taemin’s gazes manage to be. It makes Jongin avert his eyes; whether it’s from his gaze or to keep himself from glancing down at the full lips that were now pulled between Taemin’s teeth, Jongin didn’t want to know.

Jongin turned his head to the right, looking out of the windshield into their dark surroundings, the only source of light being the moon peeking through the clouds and the streetlamps running along the road next to them, making everything just barely bright enough to distinguish the small forest on one side and the dark buildings on the other side of them.

Jongin caught his own gaze in the reflection of the windshield, the interior lights turned on in the car making it impossible to have a clear view of the outside, and Jongin couldn’t really explain what he saw in his own eyes.

Taemin’s hand nudging his knee made his head snap forward, focus settled wholly on Taemin once again. Jongin saw his brows furrow slightly. “You know you can tell me, right?”

Taemin’s voice was hoarse, bordering on inaudible, and Jongin would’ve probably had trouble understanding him if they weren’t so close.

Because, somehow, they were so close right now; Taemin leaning forward more so than before, seemingly pulling Jongin in like a magnet, unconsciously, and they were _so close right now._

If Jongin focused less on the look gracing Taemin’s expression, he’d be able to feel Taemin’s breath hitting his cheek just the slightest, or would be able to be more aware of the warmth coming from Taemin’s palm as it rested over Jongin’s knee.

Jongin doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to kiss Taemin this badly, has never wanted to feel those soft lips on his own like he did right now, never before felt like kissing Taemin was more essential to him than breathing.

Jongin couldn’t breathe.

(He’d give up on breathing if it meant he’d get to feel Taemin’s full lips on his just this once.)

The momentary flicker of Taemin’s eyes to Jongin’s lips was over so fast that Jongin was sure it was a figment of his imagination, of his wishes getting the better of him. Though, Jongin didn’t manage to stop his own gaze from lingering on the curve of Taemin’s lips, from tracing the lines of his cupid’s bow, from immediately snapping back up after Taemin’s tongue swiped along the seam of his mouth.

( _Why were they so close?)_

(Why was Jongin leaning in closer?)

It seemed like everything inside Jongin’s brain was yelling at him to _stop,_ to lean back against the window of the passenger seat, to _stop, goddamnit, stop-_

But the street lamps outside basked Taemin’s skin in a soft orange, and Jongin slowly felt his eyes starting to strain with how _close_ they were, and suddenly his mind shut up, like everything just turned off, leaving only Taemin’s steadily-blurring face on his mind, in front of his eyes, possessing all his senses.

And when Jongin felt two puffs of air coming from Taemin’s mouth hit his lips, he thinks that last thread of rational thought inside him gave in, too – snapping in the form of Jongin connecting his lips to Taemin’s, of staying unmoving against them, frozen as time seemed to be around them.

Jongin thinks he’ll never be able to let go of knowing, finally, what Taemin’s lips feel like.

(He thinks he can feel the indent of where Taemin had been digging his teeth into his bottom lip before.)

Jongin doesn’t know how long they stay like that - unmoving, almost paralyzed, Jongin reveling in the softness of Taemin’s lips, in the warmth that seems to be spreading through his entire body, even if calling the simplest press of lips a _kiss_ would be utterly exaggerating. 

But Jongin knows it was him who pulled away, slowly, as if scared of seeing Taemin after this, of letting his gaze fall on Taemin’s expression again, of facing the impending consequences for his doing.

Jongin let his eyes snap back open only after he has leaned back a few inches, and when he does, he kind of wants to close them again, because, for the first time in his life, Jongin can’t seem to read Taemin’s expression as he looks at him.

With his lips still slightly parted and eyes still kept open, it seems like Taemin didn’t move an inch, didn’t even dare to blink during it all.

His face seemed devoid of anything, though still managed to make Jongin want to avert his gaze from Taemin. Maybe _because_ he couldn’t see any emotions play on Taemin’s face – be it disgust or anything else. Taemin had always been like an open book to Jongin. He didn’t know how to handle no longer being able to see what was happening in Taemin’s mind.

Jongin almost flinched when he heard Taemin speak. “Jongin- “

“I’m sorry,” Jongin rasped. It didn’t feel like his own voice.

(What did he _do-)_

“No, Jongin- “

Jongin turned to sit normally on his seat again, back lunched, trying not to shuffle his feet against the floor. “Taemin, I’m so sorry,” he said again, and he hoped Taemin didn’t hear his voice verging on breaking.

He could see Taemin open his mouth, could feel him wanting to say something, but Jongin didn’t want to hear anything, didn’t want to focus on anything but the erratic beating of his pulse or the painful tightening in his chest or the feeling of his heart dropping down to his stomach.

“Please,” he said, voice barely coming up to a whisper, closing his eyes for a moment. Taemin probably wouldn’t have heard him had it not been for the choking silence lingering in the car. “Just drive, Taemin.”

He could feel Taemin’s stare burn the side of his face, could imagine the intent look he had in his gaze. Jongin couldn’t bring himself to look back as he heard Taemin sigh; heaving a big breath before letting it out again. It sounded frustrated even to Jongin’s ears.

Taemin uncrossed his legs finally, turning back to face forward and place his feet on the gas pedal. Jongin let himself breathe in deeply as the sound of the engine starting cut through the quiet air.

Jongin spent the ride back staring outside, trying to focus on _anything_ else besides the stares he would catch Taemin directing at him through the reflection of the passenger-side window.

Jongin let his nails dig into the palm of his hands as he grew dizzy watching the countless blurs of trees speed by next to the road.

 

As soon as Taemin stopped the car in front of Jongin’s dorm, Jongin opened the car door to step out into the cool night air. He didn’t know if he really saw Taemin’s hand briefly reach out to him before curling into a fist and letting it drop onto the now-vacated passenger seat.

Jongin muttered a quiet, “thanks for dropping me off,” before he moved to push the door shut, faltering too long to be left unnoticed as he granted himself another look at Taemin’s face.

There was that soft crease between his brows he’d get whenever his body wouldn’t move the way he wanted it to during a choreography, when he was especially frustrated with something. There was the aborted movement of his jaw telling Jongin that he was biting his tongue. He remembered noticing it whenever Taemin didn’t want to risk saying anything too much, anything crossing some invisible line.

Jongin never saw either of them ever being directed at him, though – only ever linking it with Taemin trying to keep himself from talking back at producers or choreographers, from trying to stop his mouth from running too fast.

(Jongin never minded Taemin speaking whatever came to his mind.)

It took him another long second to let the door fall shut, and another one to make himself walk toward the entrance of his home.

Jongin didn’t hear the car pull away even as he was searching for his keys in his pockets, didn’t hear the engine start up again even as the door to the dorms shut behind him.

He didn’t bother hanging up his jacket – he’d deal with Junmyeon nagging him for it tomorrow -, only letting it slide off his shoulders and onto the floor, covering up the countless shoes littering the floor.

Sehun said something as a greeting as Jongin passed by the living room, some drama-rerun playing on television with its volume turned low enough to make sure it wouldn’t disturb any of the others trying to sleep. Jongin barely even averted his gaze from where it was trained on the floor as he was walking toward his room. He could practically feel Sehun’s furrowed brows, eyes squinted in confusion.

Once he entered his room and closed the door, he leaned his back against it and let his head hit the wood. Sehun probably heard the sound it made, but Jongin couldn’t really bring himself to care.

His eyes closed for a moment, a harsh breath leaving his mouth. It was weird, how his mind seemed to be completely and utterly silent right now. There weren’t thoughts tumbling over each other, clouding every corner, making Jongin unable to think straight. Somehow, there was just one thought he couldn’t manage to rid himself of.

What the _fuck_ did he do?

Jongin thinks it’s ironic, really, how he was thinking about _getting used to this_ just mere days ago, and now he’s here, heavily leaning against his door, blood still rushing in his ears, heart still beating erratically, hands still shaking, chest still tightening.

(Lips still warm.)

Because he’d kissed Taemin, because his overflowing feelings had finally caught up with him, because he couldn’t keep himself from finally – _finally –_ doing what he’d been dreaming about for months.

(Maybe years.)

Because, he’s maybe just destroyed his friendship with Taemin, just for the sake of getting to feel what he’s yearned to feel for so long, just for the sake of getting to know what it would be like to have Taemin in _every_ way, getting to know what it would be like to _not_ stop himself every time he sees Taemin, feels Taemin’s hand on his skin, knows Taemin’s gaze is directed on his every move.

It’s such an egotistical thing to do, Jongin thinks now, because how dare he take advantage of the trust Taemin has gained toward him just because he couldn’t get over himself, just because he couldn’t fucking _let go-_

“Jongin?”

Sehun's voice was awfully cautious, like he didn't want to upset Jongin any further or cross any line by talking to him. Jongin wondered if he'd leave if he didn't answer.

“I know you can hear me, you know? You bumped your head against the door, like, two minutes ago. Open the door,” Sehun said again, and Jongin closed his eyes harder until he could see shapes appear behind his eyelids. He balled his hands into fists to stop them from shaking – or to at least hide it – before he turned around and opened the door, the light from the hallway immediately making him want to close his eyes again.

“What?” He asked, and he wanted to scream at how raspy his voice sounded.

“Don’t _What?_ me. I get to ask that,” Sehun started, pushing Jongin into his room by his shoulders before making him sit on the bed, turning around to switch the light on and close the door.

He settled down on Jongin’s desk chair, crossing his legs in front of him. He looked at Jongin expectantly. It made Jongin want to punch him, kind of.

Jongin sighed, running his hand through his hair, tugging on the strands a bit. The intense gaze Sehun has on him rivals Taemin’s right now, and the mere thought makes Jongin look down at their feet.

“Hey,” Sehun says again, right leg stretching forward to push at Jongin’s foot, “what’s up with you? You were out with Taemin again, right? You’re usually all happy-go-lucky after that. And home way later.”

Sehun was right. The clock hadn’t even struck one in the morning as Jongin had returned. Jongin groaned in defeat. “You won’t leave me alone unless I tell you, right?”

“I mean,” Sehun started again, “if you really don’t wanna tell me, I guess I could handle coming back tomorrow.”

Jongin breathed out a laugh, propping his elbows on his thighs and resting his head in his hands. They were silent for a few moments, only the faint noise of the television still playing in the living room and the sound of a car driving by their street filling the air around them.

It took Jongin too long to speak, probably, and he was slightly surprised that Sehun hadn’t voiced his impatience yet. He raised his head back up again, eyes closing again as he heaved a deep breath. “I kissed him.”

The words came out in a rush of air; sent Jongin’s heart back to palpating out of his chest, made him lace his hands together to keep them from trembling, made him have to force his eyes open to see Sehun’s reaction.

Sehun just looked at him, eyes wide and lips parted slightly. “You-,” he started, his mind seemingly working to order his thoughts. “Oh.”

Jongin let out an incredulous laugh, because, “yeah, _Oh,_ thank you, Sehun.”

Sehun sat up a bit straighter in his seat, opening his mouth a few times before finding the right words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect that,” he said, leaning forward a bit. “But how did that happen? Do you, you know- “

“Yeah,” Jongin breathed, casting his gaze back to the floor, “I think I like him _too_ much, at this point.”

“Well, honestly, are we surprised?” Sehun asked, amusement lacing his voice. “No, but seriously. What happened?”

Jongin sighed, blinking his eyes a few times before directing his gaze at Sehun again. “We were just in his car, and he asked me if everything was okay, because I’d been acting different recently, which _I know,_ but I thought I was getting better.”

Sehun let out a light chuckle at that. Jongin carried on. “And I just, I don’t know, didn’t know what to say, because I can’t _lie_ to _Taemin,_ so I didn’t say anything, but then he was all like _you know you can tell me_ with that _look_ on his face that I can’t fucking handle, apparently, and just stared at him, because he stared back and didn’t move away, and then I kissed him even though I _knew_ I shouldn’t and I _knew_ I was about to crash and burn.”

Jongin let out a long breath at the end, leaning back on his hands and staring up at the ceiling. Sehun was silent for a few moments, and Jongin thinks he’d laugh at the expression playing on his friend’s face if it had been any other time.

“What did he do?” Sehun asked then, cautious again, and Jongin didn’t know why Sehun was doing all of this. He knew he hated talks like these.

Still, Jongin thinks he’ll be thankful for it after he finally gets to let everything _out._ Jongin took another breath. “He didn’t move. Like, at all.”

“So he didn’t tell you to fuck off or anything?”

Jongin shook his head, fingers coming to play with the hem of his shirt.

“Then how do you know what he thinks about it?”

Sehun’s question made Jongin furrow his brows. “What do you mean? I know Taemin, he doesn’t- “

“Of course you do,” Sehun cut him off, “but do you _know_ if he isn’t just way better at hiding his feelings than you are? You’re basically an open book, Jongin.”

It was no use trying to deny the statement. The course of the evening told enough.

Sehun’s words sounded in his head for longer than Jongin thinks was appropriate. Oh, how Jongin wanted to believe that was the case. But it wasn’t, and no amount of wishing, no amount of seemingly too-logical words from Sehun was going to change that.

Maybe he’d been staring off into space for a beat too long, because the next thing he took notice of was Sehun getting up and walking towards the door. “Just think about it,” he said, casting another glance at Jongin before leaving the room, the sound of the television increasing for just a moment as the door opened before growing muffled again as Sehun closed it gently.

Jongin suspects Sehun doesn’t have to worry about him _not_ thinking about it.

(He falls asleep that night with a heavy heart, shaky hands, warm lips.)

 

-

 

Jongin has an awful flashback to a few months ago, when he’d first tried to avoid Taemin, to avoid his feelings.

It’s almost hilarious how similar yet so completely different the circumstances are.

He'd try to find the right words for how he feels, but Jongin has never been good with words, is no poet, never has been. Wording things right has never been their strong suit, Jongin thinks now, recalling age-old memories of Taemin only ever telling him to _show me, don’t talk too much!_

Maybe that was why Jongin had acted _so_ recklessly. Maybe he had just wanted to show Taemin instead of listening to his own mind screaming at him, wanted to _act_ instead of _think,_ for once.

Either way, nothing will change what happened, will change the lack of daily text messages being sent back and forth or the hour-long phone calls whenever they didn’t manage to see each other for a day.

It’s been ten days, and if Jongin thought it was barely manageable before, then it was downright _torturing_ by now, because he didn’t have Taemin at all, didn’t feel the pleasant warmth blooming in his chest alongside the harsh tightness, didn’t get to revel in the soft, brief touches of Taemin’s hands on his skin, on his thigh, playing with his hair. He didn’t get to hear the wheezy laughs spilling over Taemin’s lips, didn’t get to see Taemin with his head thrown back, body shaking with uncontrolled laughter.

He didn’t get to lock his eyes on Taemin’s soft smiles – doesn’t matter which one of the _hundreds_ there were -, with his lips curling up ever so slightly and his eyes holding _something_ that made Jongin unable to look away, to tear his gaze from the sight that is Taemin.

He’d say Taemin’s eyes rivaled the brightest sun, but Jongin is no poet, knows that even all the stars combined wouldn’t match up to the feeling reigning over his whole being once his focus was on Taemin – _only on Taemin._

His focus right now was nowhere, somehow; it felt like his mind was floating through space with no sense of direction, no control, unable to discern left from right and up from down.

His gaze seemed to pass through his ceiling, through the old, barely holding on glow-in-the-dark stars that he’d stuck there two weeks after settling into the new dorms. Jongin tries not to connect the small stars and the one, slightly bigger moon with Taemin’s warm grip on his hips, offering safety to Jongin precariously balancing on the desk chair he’d placed on his bed.

They’d laughed dumbly, Jongin making jokes about falling off the chair and Taemin pretending to let go of the firm grasp he’d had on Jongin’s waist, making Jongin jerk and hold onto the ceiling as Taemin had to pull himself together to not actually let go of Jongin with the force of his laughter.

The sound of barely suppressed chuckles or occasional too-high giggles seemed to still resonate within Jongin’s mind, and Jongin feels like he was going mad with all the feelings clouding his mind, with every memory playing over and over in his head, with every touch making itself be relived on Jongin’s skin as he lay in bed, his focus finally settled on the one star that looked like it would fall down any second now. It’s looked like that since they’d hung it up, though. Taemin had called it a shooting star. ( _Only if it ever fell down!)_ Somehow, Jongin had agreed with a grin.

It’s been ten days, and Jongin was _aching._

 

-

 

“You can’t keep this up any longer,” Sehun said on day thirteen when he walked into Jongin’s room as if it were his own. “How long do you plan on avoiding him? It’s not gonna work forever, you know?”

And Jongin _knew._ Because it didn’t work last time, either, every fiber of his being seemingly _somehow_ attached to Taemin, unwilling to snap, unwilling to let go.

Sehun picked up an old shirt from the desk chair, throwing it at Jongin sitting on the bed. “Just talk to him. What’s the worst that could happen? Even if he doesn’t like you back, at least you’ll have some clearance.”

Jongin knows Sehun is right, knows he should talk to Taemin, knows both he _and_ Taemin deserve to know what this is, what is going on between them, what is happening inside Jongin with every passing minute spent apart from Taemin.

It’s like with each day being stuck in the unknown something in Jongin gets crushed just a little bit more, like something is being torn out of his chest, and it’ll take only few days more for it to be gone, for the feeling of something being missing to become a reality.

Jongin wonders if he would heal, wonders if he would get used to it, finally.

There’s some sort of smile forming on Jongin’s lips. Sehun’s expression becomes overthrown with pity, and Jongin wants to scream, for he knows he will never get over this; will never be able to _not_ see Taemin’s smile behind his eyelids as he tries to sleep, will never be able to _not_ feel the warmth pooling in his very core at just the mere _thought_ of Taemin’s touch, only to be left with shivers wracking through his body once his mind snaps back to reality.

“He’s not going to just drop you for this, and you know it. How long have you been friends? Ten, eleven years?” Sehun speaks up again, probably perfectly aware of Jongin’s mind spinning unbearably out of control.

Jongin’s smile turns a bit more genuine. “It’s twelve.”

Sehun nods like his point was proven. “See? Over a decade of friendship won’t be ruined so easily,” he says, getting up from his seat, stopping just as he reached the door. “You know Taemin better than me, but even I know he won’t judge you for this. Talk to him, or I’m gonna do it for you.”

And with that, he leaves, and Jongin doesn’t know what to make of the threat. Any possible outcome has him positively terrified, his heart dropping to his stomach at the mere _thought_ of Taemin, of talking to him, of simply _seeing_ him.

Jongin feels his nails press against his palms again. He doesn’t think it compares to the pain steadily building inside his chest, feeling like it should _stop_ because there’s no way there’s this much space for it, no way it’s possible for just one person to make him feel like this-

Like being on top of the world but still steadily on the ground. Like having reached the stars but still not having grasped all of them. Like being utterly breathless but still having no other source of air. Like his world is collapsing but time is standing still, waiting for his next move, waiting for him to do _something_ about the cage seemingly keeping his heart from beating to the right rhythm.

They say your heart beats in the same rhythm as the one of the person you love whenever you’re together. It feels like Jongin’s heart isn’t used to beating alone, has lost its original rhythm, has left Jongin missing the other half.

( _His_ other half.)

 

-

 

Jongin doesn’t know what to do with himself.

It feels like the world is slowly closing in on him.

Jongin isn’t usually dramatic, and it doesn’t feel like he is now, either; it’s just what the dark shadows under his eyes, his paler complexion, his more-angular face, his glazed eyes tell him.

Jongin isn’t usually dramatic, but he doesn’t think he could ever be once it’s about Taemin.

So when day fifteen presents itself in the form of a barely-there crescent moon, clouds covering most of it, and only the small stars on his ceiling offering any form of real light, Jongin really doesn’t know what to do with himself.

It’s become more and more normal for him to doze off somewhere along the night, eyelids too heavy and will not great enough anymore to fight impending sleep.

Jongin didn’t know why he wanted to stay awake. Maybe he’s scared of dreaming, of letting himself bask in something that would be gone when he next woke up, of letting the idea of Taemin seem real for just a moment. Maybe he just wanted to stare at the ceiling or out of the window, through the blinds and up in the sky, wondering if Taemin watched it, too.

Jongin didn’t know. He doesn’t think it’d help him out, anyway.

Not when, right now, through the dull sounds of cars driving by outside and soft beams of sunlight managing to break through the small crack between Jongin’s dark curtains, there were voices reverberating through the hallway outside of his room, and Jongin sat up so fast he thinks he strained his neck, because he knew that voice-

How couldn’t he, when it was all that was possessing his mind for the last days, weeks, _months._

Jongin heard the rhythmical sound of his clock ticking matching up with the steadily approaching footsteps toward his room, and saw the door handle being pushed down just as the minute hand changed numbers. _3:13._

The strip of light managed to catch Taemin’s face nearly perfectly as he slowly, hesitantly, opened the door, and Jongin felt like his heart was both beating as erratically as never before and stopping altogether, because, _wow,_ had he missed Taemin.

Obviously he had, the previous days spent at home, barely talking, barely sleeping, made that more than clear, but he didn’t think simply _seeing_ Taemin would send such a wave of relief, of bone-bared emotions over his whole being.

The sound of the door falling closed sent his focus back to now, back to Taemin standing in his room, looking unsure in a way Jongin had never seen him, like he had to force himself to not _run,_ to keep his ground even though he looked like he didn’t want to live in his own skin right now.

He saw Taemin scratch at the back of his head, pulling the strands of his outgrown hair a bit before clearing his throat. “Hey.”

The hoarse tone of his voice made Jongin want to frown and make Taemin a cup of tea. It reminded him of the raspy edge his voice had in the morning, but somehow, it was so different Jongin didn’t think there was a way to explain it.

He tugged at a loose strand hanging from the hem of his shirt, trying to keep his gaze on Taemin’s. “Hi.”

The smile Taemin sent his way looked more like a grimace. It made Jongin’s lips want to curl up, anyway.

Taemin looked awkward; probably felt awkward, standing in Jongin’s dark room, shuffling his feet, switching his weight from one leg to the other as they just looked at each other, like it was the only thing they wanted to be doing, like they didn’t know where to go from here.

It took another moment for Jongin to speak up again, a quiet, “you can sit down, if you want.”

He expected Taemin to take a seat on the desk chair. He felt his chest constrict when he noticed the bed dip a few inches away from his crossed legs.

Jongin’s room was dark, but he was still able to distinguish the dark circles under Taemin’s eyes, the loss of the soft blush that usually adorns his cheeks, his full lips bitten red to the point they’d probably bled at least once. Taemin had always had a habit of doing that – Jongin was just usually there to keep him from it.

He wondered if he looked the same to Taemin.

(He probably looked worse.)

“So,” Taemin said then, fingers fiddling with his rings yet again. Jongin’s mind snapped to the piece of jewelry still sitting on his bedside table.

“I’m sorry,” Jongin said, trying to make his voice comprehendible, clear enough for Taemin to hear that he meant it. “For everything.” _For doing this to us._

Taemin’s hands curled into a loose fist. His index finger twitched. “For not talking to me,” he began, voice growing increasingly quiet, “or for kissing me?”

And Jongin knew that _that_ was what Taemin was here for, what he wanted to talk about, _finally_ – but it still didn’t stop Jongin’s hands to shake, his heart to drop, his voice to stutter when he spoke again. “For both, I guess?”

Taemin took a breath, chest expanding as he shuffled on the bed to mirror Jongin’s position, crossing his legs and resting his arms on his knees. Taemin’s palms were turned upward. Jongin wanted to trace the lines adorning the skin. 

“So you-,” he breathed, seemingly only belatedly realizing he should speak up, should make Jongin aware that _this –_ this was important. “So you didn’t mean it?”

The question made Jongin’s mind halt, made every thought pacing around _stop,_ because _this_ was what had kept him awake, had left him somewhere he thought was inescapable, somewhere he thought he’d lost his everything.

Because he’d meant it. _God,_ how badly he’d meant it. _Means_ it, and _will_ mean it, past, present, future. Forever.

And it hurts; hurts in a way Jongin doesn’t know how to describe. In a way that leaves you shattered, leaves you on the ground, hoping for that person to somehow pick you up, and it hurts in one of the best and most awful ways Jongin didn’t think was possible.

Hurts in a way that made Jongin’s chest burn in the most beautiful nature, made his lungs unable to pull in air, left him choking and drowning all together, never able to breathe but, somehow, always managing to inhale _one more time,_ to add a bit more air to the fire building inside him.

Taemin was still looking at him, gaze waiting, intent, profound, and Jongin tried to _focus,_ to not get lost within himself or within _Taemin,_ tried to get his mind under control for once, tried to-

“Hey,” Taemin spoke up, voice softer, now; the desperate edge gone and replaced with worry, the tone supported by the slight crease between his eyebrows. “Breathe, okay? It’s okay.”

And how Jongin didn’t flinch when Taemin set his hand on top of his, thumb stroking along his knuckles, was beyond him. Maybe it was his soft voice still resonating inside his ears, maybe the cold metal of Taemin’s rings on his suddenly-too-hot skin. Maybe it was just Taemin.

But it didn’t matter, because Jongin breathed air into his tight chest, exhaling before managing to get more words out. “It’s not,” he breathed. He didn’t bother trying to keep his voice level anymore. “It’s not okay.”

Taemin’s frown turned confused. Jongin didn’t want him to have to ask, forced himself to continue speaking. “I meant it, and it’s not okay, because I _can’t_ mean it, I _shouldn’t,_ but I _do_ and I’m sorry- “

“Why shouldn’t you?” Taemin’s voice was quiet, soft, but strong in a way that made Jongin stop what he was saying immediately, mind needing a few moments to process the question before Jongin found himself answering.

“What do you mean?” He asked, tone bordering on incredulous.

“Why shouldn’t you want to kiss me?”

And Jongin had no idea, no idea at all, why Taemin was asking him this like he didn’t know the answer. Like he didn’t know why Jongin was acting this way, like he thought this was the easiest thing in the world. It made Jongin’s thoughts scream and his heart throb.

Taemin’s expectant expression made it obvious that he was waiting for an answer. Jongin could’ve thought the question was all rhetoric – a joke to make the whole situation no longer this serious.

But it wasn’t, and Jongin didn’t know what to say, didn’t know where to begin, didn’t know where to stop. He took a breath and hoped he wouldn’t fuck everything up even more.

“Because you’re my best friend, and I’m yours. Because I shouldn’t feel like I’m about to _explode_ whenever you touch me, or look at me, or talk to me, or whenever I only even _think_ of you. Because I feel sick to my stomach right now but I’m so god-damn happy that you’re here, and somehow it’s the best and the worst feeling I’ve ever experienced, because I can see you again but will never be able to feel _normal_ around you, like my pulse isn’t going to stop in the next minute, like my fingers aren’t fucking _itching_ to touch you, and it’s horrible, Taemin, and I’m so-“

And then Jongin felt the warmth of Taemin’s palm resting on his hand turn into a tight grip, squeezing his fingers, barely leaving any space between them. Jongin had to force himself to keep his gaze on Taemin; to not avert it to their intertwined hands, to Taemin’s ring pressing into his skin.

“Don’t,” Taemin then breathed, “don’t be sorry, ‘cause I’d have to be sorry, too.”

Jongin couldn’t breathe again, couldn’t keep his mind from circling around those words, because it _couldn’t be,_ Taemin doesn’t mean it like _that-_

“You-,” Jongin uttered out despite himself, the word burning on its way out, feeling foreign on his tongue. “You, too?”

And part of Jongin didn’t want to hear the answer, didn’t want to hear a clarification of _no, not like that,_ didn’t want to feel his heart drop to the pit of his stomach once again, maybe for the final time.

But Taemin’s smile was back on his face, bright and genuine and _beautiful,_ with his eyes creasing at the edges just the slightest bit, his lips pulled up in a way that made Jongin worry that the small cut would split open again. Though Taemin spoke before his mind could get stuck on the endless thoughts of the small but _oh so_ perfect blemishes adorning Taemin’s features.

“Yes, Jongin,” he just said, voice lighter, laced with a soft kind of amusement – like it was starting to be funny how much they’d invested into this, like he couldn’t believe something could be so hard to solve. “Me too.”

Jongin tried to answer, tried to keep his mind from stopping any train of thought, but Taemin was letting go of Jongin’s hand for just a second before tangling them together, fingers interlacing and squeezing tightly, like he was afraid Jongin would run away or disappear.

Jongin tightened his hold, too.

And the distance between them suddenly felt too big, made Jongin ache with how badly he wanted to be closer, so impossibly closer to Taemin.

Shuffling forward on the bed probably looked awkward. Taemin’s amused grin made it worth it.

So did the warm hand settling in the juncture of Jongin’s neck, the gesture leaving goosebumps raising on Jongin’s skin, a shiver running through his body, a warmth curling in his chest.

Now Taemin was close, so close Jongin could smell the fresh scent of his shampoo, the mint tea he’d probably drunk before, the distinct _something_ that was simply entirely Taemin, and Jongin thinks if there was a thing he’s addicted to, it’s _this._

Taemin’s thumb was running circles along his skin, and everything seemed to make sense, somehow.

“Can I kiss you?” Taemin then asked, so quietly Jongin wouldn’t have heard it if they weren’t sharing each breath right now, weren’t mere inches away from each other.

And Jongin didn’t have to think twice – didn’t have to think _at all –_ to let a relieved sigh and a breath of, “ _please,”_ leave his lips.

And then Taemin was inching closer, leaning forward, grip on Jongin’s neck tightening until there was barely any space left between them, until Jongin could feel each breath leaving Taemin’s mouth, could feel the air hit his skin, fill his lungs, tangle around his heart.

Jongin moved forward that last bit, letting their lips brush _just so,_ willing Taemin to _do something, don’t let it be like last time, please-_

And Taemin did; pulled Jongin forward by his neck, connected their lips fully, made Jongin have to force himself not to break out in a grin, because this was everything he had ever imagined and more, everything Jongin never thought he’d have, everything Jongin thought about in the depths of the night while he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t close his eyes without the image of Taemin playing behind his eyelids.

Jongin brought the hand not tangled with Taemin’s up to lay against the back of his neck, feeling strands of Taemin’s hair tickle his palm, grabbed onto them and tugged the slightest bit.

He felt Taemin sigh into the kiss as their lips slid together, and Jongin felt like they had all the time in the world, had nothing to worry about, had nothing to do besides _this._

 _This._ Moving their lips together, pulling and pushing, chasing and teasing, like they knew exactly what to do with each other, when to part their lips, when to tighten the hold of their hands, and Jongin thought that no fantasy, no wandering of his mind could've ever come close to this.

To the soft pecks that transformed into languid drags of lips against lips. To the sensation of _finally_ having Taemin’s soft, full lips under his own. To the feeling of Taemin nibbling slightly on his bottom lip before biting down just a bit harder, pulling a sound from his throat that would’ve been embarrassing had he been with anyone that wasn’t Taemin.

To the sudden striking realization that _this_ was real, that this was happening, and it wouldn’t stop like last time, wouldn’t leave him broken and desperate for another chance, for another turn of events.

The moment Jongin felt Taemin’s tongue lick at the seam of his lips, he couldn’t keep the soft gasp from falling from his mouth. Taemin’s breathy laugh would’ve made Jongin roll his eyes had it not been for the feeling of his tongue slowly moving along his own.

Jongin had always thought the descriptions by poets were silly, a simple tactic to get the point across, to get some deeper meaning into something trivial. But right now, with Taemin in his arms, lips connected and tongues moving together, Jongin truly felt like he had the world in his hands.

Jongin is no poet, never has been, but he’d still compare the taste of Taemin to blooming flowers, to streets just after raining, to dark nights spent gazing at the stars, to lying together, breathing together, living together.

Because kissing Taemin was something Jongin couldn’t describe as something _trivial;_ kissing Taemin was a breath of fresh air after staying underwater for a moment too long. It was the warmth on your skin when you woke up with the sun shining through the window. It was the gust of wind on your skin, the rustle of leaves in the night, the safety of watching a storm rage outside through your window at home.

Being unable to breathe in exchange for getting to kiss Taemin for just a second longer seemed like the most natural thing to do, his protesting lungs only forcing Jongin to pull away in the last moment.

Seeing Taemin chase after his lips the slightest bit made Jongin smile and laugh shakily after his eyes fluttered open and his gaze found Taemin’s. Jongin thinks he’s never been more beautiful; cheeks flushed, eyes glazed where they were focused on Jongin, lips now bitten red from Jongin and not from Taemin himself, the indent left by Taemin’s teeth no longer visible underneath the slightly swollen skin.

Jongin’s fingers were still playing with the strands of Taemin’s hair, and Taemin’s thumb was still circling over the small patch of skin on Jongin’s neck, and the small ray of light breaking through the curtains had moved _just so_ that it shone onto the side of Taemin’s face. Jongin felt his heart soar, his mind halt, his smile grow.

Their breaths were coming heavy, soft pants filling the air around them. Jongin wouldn’t be surprised if Taemin could hear his heart beating against his chest, right now.

But it didn’t matter, because Jongin had nothing to hide anymore, had nothing to feel ashamed for. Because Taemin felt this, too; felt the irrational erratic beating of his heart, felt the shortness of breath, felt the warmth of Jongin’s touch against his skin.

Jongin wasn’t alone, because he’d always had Taemin right by his side.

“Stop,” Taemin suddenly said, voice breaking into a breathy chuckle. Jongin frowned a bit, smile staying in place. “What?”

Taemin’s thumb stilled against Jongin’s neck, simply resting on the skin, grasping firmly. “Thinking sappy things.”

Jongin wondered if he’d been that obvious or if Taemin simply knew him too well.

(Was there such a thing as _too well_?)

Jongin sighed lightly, letting his head drop onto Taemin’s shoulder before muttering, “can’t help it.” He felt Taemin’s body shake against him as soft laughs left his lips.

“Let me hear them, at least,” he then said, voice muffled from where his lips were slightly pressed against Jongin’s hair, moving the strands with every word he spoke. Jongin felt a shiver run through his body.

“No,” Jongin replied, burying his face a bit more into the expanse of Taemin’s neck, letting his lips brush the soft skin there. He felt Taemin’s slowing breath pick up a bit. “That’s embarrassing.”

Jongin felt Taemin’s hum go through his body, the even vibration obvious against his lips. “Come _on,_ ” Taemin urged, the hand previously resting against Jongin’s neck moving down do prod at his sides, the sudden contact making Jongin jerk and jump back a bit. “Tell me.”

Taemin’s fingers kept poking Jongin’s sides, Jongin trying to move away from the ticklish sensation, but suddenly having nowhere to go once his back was pressed against the headboard of his bed, legs moved to be stretched out in front of him and Taemin kneeling over his thighs.

Jongin still tried to squirm away from Taemin’s hands, though once Taemin rested his full weight on Jongin’s thighs, he knew there was no use to endure the torture any longer.

“Okay,” he wheezed out, voice laced with barely contained laughter, “ _okay,_ Stop! I’ll tell you!”

Taemin’s grin widened even more, though his giggles died down after a few more seconds. He looked at Jongin expectantly, hands now unmoving against Jongin’s waist, simply covering the skin over the shirt, leaving Jongin’s sides feeling warm, _safe_.

“I was just,” Jongin eventually said, quietly, trying not to avert his gaze from Taemin’s. He wanted to keep looking. “Thinking about how long I’ve wanted to do that. And that sounded very weird, but you wanted- “

Feeling Taemin connect their lips again made it impossible for Jongin to feel upset for being interrupted.

The kiss was slow, brief, easy; like it was the most natural thing to do, like they’d done it a thousand times already. They didn’t, but Jongin was sure they’ll get there.

Taemin moved away too early, and Jongin would’ve pulled him right back in if it weren’t for the small smile gracing his lips. He didn’t want to look away.

“It doesn’t sound weird,” Taemin said, voice laced with _something_ that made Jongin unable to focus on anything else, entranced. “Stop overthinking now. I’ve felt the same as you for long enough, you’re not being weird. Not without me, at least.”

And, somehow, that didn’t sound like a bad fate at all.

Jongin mirrored Taemin’s smile, lacing his hand back with Taemin’s. The fingers against his waist tightened, thumbs resuming their circling motion. Jongin thinks he’s never breathed this fine, felt this light, thought this little.

(Jongin laid his hand against Taemin’s chest, concentrated on the rhythmic beats his heart emitted, smiled wider when he felt his own match up.)

 

-

 

Some things changed. Some things stayed the same.

The warmth blooming inside Jongin’s chest was the same. The lack of a painful tightness overtaking it right after was different. Seeing Taemin and being overcome with the urge to kiss him, to touch him, to feel him was the same. Finally being able to actually _do it_ was different.

Having his heart pick up, his thoughts be interrupted upon feeling Taemin’s hands roam the skin of his arms stayed. The nervous shaking of his hands and the dryness of his mouth went.

Dreaming about Taemin; about deep kisses, meaningful touches, warm sensations; about having Taemin in every way, about being able to call Taemin _his_ and call himself _Taemin’s_ wasn’t new and didn’t change. Though, Jongin waking up in the morning and knowing that his dreams were just a phone call away _was_ new and _did_ change.

They were the same and they weren’t. They were best friends and they were more than that.

Taemin’s touches still lingered too long, but Jongin no longer overthought it; merely placed his hand on top of Taemin’s, or moved it up to play with strands of Taemin’s hair, or settled it in the juncture of his neck before pulling him in for a quick kiss that left him both full of air and utterly breathless at the same time.

Jongin wonders when he’d get used to the feeling of kissing Taemin; of feeling soft lips slide against his, warm touches roam over his body, light nips or harsher bites placed on his and Taemin’s lips. It’s only been a week, so maybe the surges of electricity coursing through his body would ease a bit.

(Jongin doesn’t think they will – doesn’t want them to.)

Sleeping in the same bed, sharing blankets, had never been unusual. Cuddling so close they could feel each other’s hearts, could feel every breath, was new.

Jongin thinks the upgrade from staring at his ceiling for hours on end at night, to looking at Taemin’s barely lit-up face, feeling his chest move up and down with each breath under his palm, seeing him look right back at him through the darkness, was the best thing that has ever happened to him.

Taemin’s been staying over at Jongin’s dorm more often now, will most of the times arrive late in the evening, just as everyone was clearing the table from the finished dinner and started sauntering back into their rooms. Jongin had started to wait on the couch, glancing from the TV to the door every few minutes, too impatient to see Taemin again.

They were both tired a good amount of the times Taemin came over. There wasn’t much either of them were up to doing except for lying around together, either managing to move to Jongin’s room or Taemin simply collapsing onto the couch next to Jongin, settling his head into Jongin’s lap, eyes struggling to stay open but Taemin insisting that _I wanna look at you, I haven’t seen you all day_.

It made Jongin reach out and stroke his fingers over Taemin’s cheek, reveling in the way Taemin leaned into the soft touch, nearly breaking apart when he’d feel Taemin’s lips place a light kiss to his palm.

Today, they’d spent a good amount of the late evening watching some talk show on TV, not really focusing, not really wanting to. Taemin’s hand resting on the inside of his thigh was warm; a silent source of comfort, if not incredibly distracting. Jongin could feel Taemin’s hair tickle his chin from where he had his head resting on Jongin’s shoulder, each breath hitting the skin of Jongin’s neck.

It was nice; Jongin’s hand around Taemin’s shoulders, Taemin’s head sometimes turning the slightest bit to pepper small kisses to the expanse of Jongin’s neck, the hand on his thigh sliding higher, making his pulse quicken where Taemin could feel it while placing small kisses along the pulse point, sliding a bit lower again, making Jongin squeeze Taemin’s shoulder and Taemin release a hearty chuckle. It was nice.

 “We don’t have any schedules tomorrow,” Jongin said during an obnoxious commercial break. Taemin hummed against Jongin’s neck, kisses starting to linger for just a second longer. Jongin took another breath.

“What d’you mean with that?” Taemin then murmured, the words muffled against Jongin’s skin.

“I don’t know,” Jongin replied haughtily, receiving a bite against his neck in response. “What do you want it to mean?”

Taemin pulled back a bit, Jongin’s neck feeling too cold all of a sudden. He looked over at Taemin, taking notice of his reddened lips and glazed eyes. He moved his hand from Taemin’s shoulder to the back of his neck, just the slightest push forward before Taemin connected their lips with a passion Jongin should’ve expected.

The kiss was slow, though with a desperation that made it clear how their eagerness was about to overflow. Taemin’s hand not resting on Jongin’s thigh cradled the side of Jongin’s face gently, _oh so gently,_ the contact contrasting the increasing harshness of their kisses.

The push and pull against each other left Jongin lightheaded, no thought in his head except Taemin, _Taemin, Taemin_ as they continued to kiss, breaking apart for just a moment before coming back together with renewed fervor, each kiss longer, harsher, _more_ than the last, every parting of Taemin’s mouth under his own leaving Jongin more frantic, more daring, more _willing._

Taemin let his teeth dig into the skin of Jongin’s bottom lip, soothing the spot with a flick of his tongue, using Jongin’s gasp to slip it into Jongin’s mouth, and Jongin felt possessed to his very last sense by the feeling of Taemin against him, his lips on his, his tongue sliding along his.

The hand on Jongin’s thigh moved further up again, didn’t halt and go back down this time, stayed firmly in its place close to the juncture of his thigh, the touch warm in the most distracting way through the thin fabric of Jongin’s sweatpants.

Jongin’s hold on Taemin’s neck slackened, moving his hand to the back of his head, brushing his fingers through the blonde strands before grasping them in a tighter grip, tugging the ends, mind going blank at the small moan Taemin released into his mouth.

Jongin has to bite back the small grin forming on his lips at the small shudders he feels going through Taemin with every pull of his hair, with every slight dig of Jongin’s fingernails into his skin.

Karma comes at him in the form of Taemin’s hand ghosting upwards and resting on his crotch, not leaving Jongin any time to get used to the hot touch before tightening his grasp, pulling back from their kiss just to lock their gazes together and let a smug grin grace his features.

Jongin was about to let out some snarky remark, but couldn’t even get out one word before he broke off into an embarrassing, breathy moan as Taemin rhythmically tightened and loosened his grip on Jongin’s clothed erection, tilting his head back while trying to keep his gaze on Taemin.

The glint in Taemin’s eyes left Jongin feeling hot, his chest tight in the best possible way, his fingers still buried in Taemin’s hair itching to tighten their hold yet again, to pull Taemin in for another deep kiss.

The thought left him as soon as he felt Taemin move forward to place harsher kisses against the column of his throat, covering all the spots he’d been softly mouthing at before with nips of his teeth, sucks of his lips, licks of his tongue.

Another gasp left his mouth as Taemin kissed a certain spot on his neck, feeling Taemin’s grin widen against the skin again before he started sucking on the small patch of skin, taking it between his teeth, definitely leaving a mark.

The thought of seeing the dark bruise stand out against his tan skin by tomorrow made Jongin roll his hips up the next time he felt Taemin grind his palm against his hardness. He pulled the hair still fisted in his hand and felt himself bare his neck a tad bit more at the aborted whine Taemin let out.

All the combined sensations being sent through him nearly left Jongin delirious; the lips on his neck, the bites against his skin, the steady movement of Taemin’s hand over his dick, the sound of those quiet hums Taemin let out whenever Jongin tugged on his hair just hard enough, let his fingers dig into his scalp just firm enough.

He didn’t know when his eyes had fallen shut, just knew that the almost hypnotizing flicker of the TV left him even more focused on every touch, every sound from Taemin.

He felt Taemin leave that one spot on his neck alone, moving to the area just below Jongin’s ear, staying there without contact for a few moments, just letting his warm breath hit Jongin’s skin there.

The brush of Taemin’s lips against the unmarked spot left a surge of electricity run down his spine, right to where Taemin’s hand was still palming him through his sweatpants.

“We should,” Jongin started, voice raspy, nearly quiet enough to be drowned out by the low volume of the television. Another bite to his neck urged a gasp from Jongin’s mouth, made his head tilt further to the side. Taemin hummed against his throat, coaxing Jongin to continue what he wanted to say.

Jongin took a shaky breath. “We should move. I don’t think anyone’s asleep yet.”

Taemin moved back a bit, keeping the forming bruise between his teeth as he pulled away, only let it go at the last moment before it’d become painful. Jongin opened his eyes again, tilted his head back forward to catch Taemin’s gaze already focused on him, and Jongin wondered how someone could be this breathtaking with bruised lips, glazed eyes, red cheeks, messed-up hair.

Taemin’s parted lips formed back into a small grin. “Oh,” he started, the pressure of his hand still massaging Jongin’s bulge relentless, voice teasing in a way that left Jongin annoyed but also so, _so_ lost in its tone. “So you think we’re gonna do something?”

Jongin nearly rolled his eyes, because what else could Taemin have said? “Like you don’t,” he instead replied, forcing himself to lean forward and away from Taemin’s touches before standing up, whole body suddenly too cold without Taemin against him.

He pulled Taemin up by his outstretched hands, tugging harsher than needed playfully, sending Taemin stumbling into his chest. Jongin laughed as Taemin lightly hit his shoulder, though a smile taking over his every feature. Jongin doesn’t think he’s ever felt quite this high.

The way to Jongin’s room was a frenzy of distracting kisses, wandering hands, tripping steps, shared giggles. It would’ve been a weird sight. They probably looked like two guys who’d had one too many drinks. Somehow, Jongin felt drunk in the most consuming manner.

The moment Jongin closed the door to his room, he felt himself be shoved against the wooden surface, Taemin’s lips immediately finding his again. Jongin let his hands hold Taemin’s waist, dragging his palm further up, sliding underneath the old shirt Taemin was wearing, fingers digging into the warm skin stretching over his ribs.

Taemin’s hands were curled around Jongin’s neck, one thumb circling gently along the spot just underneath his ear, right where a bruise was beginning to form.

Jongin pushed off the wall again, walking Taemin backward to his bed, slightly shoving him to lay down on the mattress. Taemin scoffed playfully, though maneuvered himself to rest his head down on a pillow, limbs stretched out over the whole bed. Jongin laughed at the image, though quickly moved to get on top of Taemin, steadying himself with two elbows on the sides of Taemin's head.

There were a few long moments of them simply looking at each other, neither of them seemingly willing to break the gaze they were holding, focused on every breath, every blink, every twitch the other gave.

Taemin’s palm came back to cradle the side of Jongin’s face, and Jongin couldn’t help but lean down again, connecting their lips in a soft kiss and letting them slide together slowly; like they had all the time in the world, like nothing was holding them back.

And right now, with Taemin’s other hand sliding under Jongin’s shirt, fingertips leaving soft traces in their wake and goosebumps rising on Jongin’s skin, it truly felt like they did.

Jongin wasn’t sure how long they were like this; lips interlocked so softly, so passionately, Taemin’s hand roaming from Jongin’s side to his back to his chest. Jongin’s cheek was left cold once Taemin removed his hand to slide under his shirt, too, slowly hunching the fabric up until it was easy for Jongin to let it be pulled over his head and be discarded somewhere in the room.

The pressure against his erection was back, the palm of Taemin’s hand softly grinding up, leaving Jongin to drop his head into the juncture of Taemin’s neck with a breathy moan, the hot air hitting Taemin’s skin.

Jongin began nibbling at the expanse of Taemin’s throat, leaving sucking kisses and increasingly harsher bites everywhere he could reach, trying to draw out those soft gasps and high whines from Taemin’s mouth.

At a harsh suck right at Taemin’s pulse point, he felt the touch over his dick falter before Taemin rolled them around, leaving Jongin staring up at Taemin’s flushed face, light grin adorning his expression. Taemin tilted his head down for another languid kiss, letting their tongues slide together slowly, making Jongin dizzy and unable to concentrate on anything except Taemin _Taemin Taemin-_

Taemin pulled back all too soon, Jongin leaning up slightly, chasing Taemin’s mouth. He simply got a smile in return before Taemin slid further down, placing a path of soft kisses along the expanse of Jongin’s chest, turning them harsher as he moved down his stomach, taking the skin between his teeth before letting go again to watch the small bitemark fade away.

Taemin’s lips moved onto the prominent hipbones on Jongin’s sides, pushing the waistband of his sweatpants down a bit before sucking another bruise into the skin, low enough as to not be seen when Jongin wore normal pants. The gentle kiss Taemin left on the new mark seemed treasured, like Taemin thought of it as their little secret, just for them to see. It made Jongin’s mind take a few beats too long to catch up on the insistent taps against his hips, the soft pulls to his sweatpants.

Once the clouds in his head cleared, Jongin lifted his hips to allow Taemin to pull them down, letting his soft palms drag across the length of his legs, leaving Jongin nearly buzzing with anticipation when the pants were thrown onto the floor as well.

Their gazes locked again, and Jongin felt like drowning in the depth of Taemin’s eyes, the streetlamp shining in through the open curtains leaving just enough light to distinguish the soft-yet-dark glint taking over them. The warm hand settling on Jongin’s inner thigh brought him back, suddenly aware of their very different states of clothing.

“You, too,” he muttered, tugging at the short sleeve of Taemin’s shirt, hoping to get his point across. Jongin smiled when Taemin sat back on his knees while mirroring the expression.

Taemin peeled his shirt off in a hurried manner, and Jongin couldn’t help but reach out and rest his hand against Taemin’s side, tracing invisible lines from one mole to another, sweeping his palm across a taut stomach, feeling every muscle contract, every breath come a bit quicker under his every finger.

The small shiver that ran through Taemin left Jongin to drag his hand over his abdomen once, twice, thrice more before he fidgeted with the button of Taemin’s jeans, popping it open after getting his other hand to help.

Watching Taemin shift his weight from one knee to the other as he tried to not fall back while taking his pants off left Jongin unable to keep in the laughter bubbling in his chest, the sound feeling like a release of unadulterated happiness. It didn’t stop Taemin from jokingly smacking the inside of Jongin’s thigh once he managed to get his jeans off and on the floor.

His laughter turned into a gasp as Taemin’s hand was back on his crotch, the touch so much more intense with only the fabric of his boxers separating them.

Taemin leaned back down then, placing small nibs and soft kisses along the inside of Jongin’s thighs while he was palming his erection. It made Jongin’s eyes close and his head drop back against the pillows, unable to keep his gasps from escaping his mouth.

The feeling of Taemin’s fingers playing with the waistband of his boxers made Jongin raise his hips almost immediately, the instant reaction coaxing a breathy laugh from Taemin before finally dragging the fabric down.

The cool air touching his sensitive skin made Jongin shiver, though Taemin’s hand encircling his length made him nearly _keen,_ the skin-on-skin contact so long awaited, so desperately needed; the slow strokes Taemin started so perfect, so much yet not enough, _not enough at all._

The drag of Taemin’s thumb along the head of his dick made Jongin’s hips jerk up the slightest bit, the aborted movement not going unnoticed by Taemin, his hand tightening _just so,_ the pad of his thumb circling the head on every upstroke, and Jongin wondered how Taemin managed to make him come undone with only _this._

Jongin’s eyes snapped back open the moment he felt Taemin’s hand halt, only for his fingers to grip the base of Jongin’s length. Jongin found Taemin’s gaze already directed at him, and he thinks the sight of Taemin right now was one he wouldn’t have dared to imagine before; lidded eyes looking up at him, cheeks flushed even in the dim light, reddened lips pursed mere inches above Jongin’s dick.

Taemin’s tongue licks along the seam of his lips before blowing hot air on the tip of Jongin’s dick, and Jongin thinks he’s gonna pass out.

The first lick leaves Jongin gasping, though intent on keeping his eyes focused on Taemin, unwilling to miss any movement on Taemin’s face, any emotion in his eyes.

Taemin’s lips closing around his erection has Jongin’s breath catching in his throat, his hands grasping the dark sheets beneath him as Taemin lowered his head, a moan leaving his parted lips once Taemin starts bobbing his head.

The kittenish licks of Taemin’s tongue across the tip has Jongin giving up on trying to keep his eyes open, letting them flutter shut and his head fall back against the pillow as Taemin starts taking more of him in, sucking on every move up, dragging the tip of his tongue along the protruding vein on the bottom, swallowing when his lips met the hold his hand still had on Jongin, throat closing around his dick and pressure increasing in his stomach.

The sudden touch of Taemin’s fingers circling around his one wrist had Jongin opening his eyes just so see Taemin place Jongin’s hand on the back of his head, his fingers immediately tangling in the soft strands of his hair.

Taemin looked up for a moment, and the smirk playing on his face despite Jongin’s dick in his mouth made Jongin tighten the grip he now had on Taemin’s hair, the action coaxing a low hum from Taemin’s throat. The vibration from the sound made Jongin tug on the strands again, trying not to cant his hips up, curling his other hand a bit tighter into the sheets.

The heat coiling in Jongin’s stomach seemed to grow with every passing second; with every move of Taemin’s head, every drag of his tongue over his head, every moan after another tug at his hair. Jongin let his eyes fall back shut, feeling himself climb higher and higher, closer and closer to the edge, ready to fall over any moment.

Jongin didn’t want to think about the sounds he was making; all high whines and breathy moans, harsh pants and loud gasps while Taemin increased his pace, dragging his tongue over the head of his dick on every upwards stroke, sucking every time he went back down.

“I’m close,” Jongin gasped, voice raspy, sounding used. He pulled on Taemin’s hair again, because he was _so close-_

“ _Taemin-,”_ he breathed out just before the pleasure washed over him, feeling Taemin’s throat work around him as he swallowed his release, pulling off only once Jongin squirmed away from oversensitivity, stroking Jongin’s dick one last time just to hear him whine and have him swat at his shoulder.

Jongin’s chest was still rising rapidly as he softly pulled Taemin up by the grip he still had on his hair, dragging him in for another kiss.

Feeling Taemin grind his hips down in search for friction made Jongin let out a breathy laugh into Taemin’s mouth before he let his hands wander down the expanse of Taemin’s back, lightly dragging his fingernails along the skin until he felt the waistband of Taemin’s boxers. He didn’t bother making Taemin suffer any longer - the nearly desperate rolls of his hips telling Jongin enough - so he made quick work of sliding off the underwear and getting his hand around Taemin, his hips immediately bucking forward.

Feeling the sounds coming from Taemin’s mouth be breathed into his made Jongin tighten his grip on him, his thumb dragging circles along the head, putting pressure just below the tip, sliding right along the prominent vein. It made Taemin break away from their kiss with a breathy moan, leaning his forehead down to rest on Jongin’s shoulder, every hot breath hitting his skin and leaving his sensitive nerves tingling.

Jongin’s one hand came back to rest on the back of Taemin’s neck, letting his nails dig into the skin _just so,_ tugging at the short strands just enough to make Taemin shudder and release a whine, a moan, a gasp.

Jongin turned his head a bit, mouthing at the patch of skin on Taemin’s neck that he could reach, licking over it with his tongue before taking the skin between his teeth. He wonders just how beautiful the bruises adorning Taemin’s pale skin will be by tomorrow.

Taemin’s hips started canting forward to meet Jongin’s strokes messily, pants becoming louder, whines more frequent, and Jongin knew from the way Taemin’s breaths hit his shoulder that he was close.

Jongin sucked on the skin again, just a tad bit harder than before, and let his fingers curl tightly in Taemin’s hair, and Taemin’s muscles tensed for a long moment, lips parted against Jongin’s skin and high breaths passing through them. Jongin stroked him through it, let his high drag out until Taemin’s every muscle seemed to give, making him collapse on Jongin’s chest with a low whine when Jongin wouldn’t stop dragging his palm over his sensitive length.

Jongin left another small peck against the new mark on Taemin’s skin before letting him roll off, laying on his back next to Jongin, trying to detangle the covers with his feet. Jongin chuckled as he reached for a few tissues, let it fade into a full-blown laugh when he wiped it along Taemin’s stomach and made him squirm away at the ticklish sensation.

He pulled the covers over Taemin before throwing the tissues away and slipping under them as well, throwing an arm over Taemin’s chest and smiling when he felt legs tangle with his. Jongin senses the soft curl of Taemin’s lips against his hair, the strands fluttering with every exhale from his nose, tickling the skin just over his left eyebrow.

Jongin didn’t mind.

He looks up at the ceiling, wonders when that one star had finally lost its hold and had fallen down. He turns his head the slightest bit, tries not to get distracted by the way the streetlamp outside illuminates Taemin’s finally-resting profile, catches sight of a faint glow coming from above Taemin’s head.

(Shooting star.)

The even rise and fall of Taemin’s chest makes Jongin’s consciousness fade away, feels sleep taking over just as the lips brushing over his scalp place a firm kiss to his hair, doesn’t manage to keep his mouth from turning up the slightest bit as he gives into the heaviness of his eyelids.

(Jongin’s heart doesn’t run away, because Taemin’s doesn’t, either.)

 

-

 

Jongin wakes up to the sun shining through his window and fingers tracing mindless patterns along his neck, down to his chest, back up to his cheek.

He lets himself indulge in the moment, his mind still half-asleep, limbs heavy, skin warm from where the sunrays were hitting. Jongin could feel the softest tickle of Taemin’s breath fanning against his cheek, could feel the comforting weight of Taemin’s arm resting on his chest, sometimes nudging it slightly to the side when it came in the way of the next invisible line drawn by his fingers.

Jongin lightly scrunched his face up when he felt a finger poke his cheek. “I know you’re awake,” Taemin said, voice hoarse, remainders of sleep evident in the tone.

Jongin groaned before letting his eyes fall open, squinting at the brightness for a moment before his gaze focused on Taemin still looking down at him with his finger now softly resting against Jongin’s cheek. There was that small smile on Taemin’s face, like he didn’t have half the mind to control it, didn’t even know it was there at all. It coaxed Jongin to move his hand laying by his side and rest it on Taemin’s, lacing their fingers together on top of his chest.

“Good morning,” Taemin smiled down at him, thumb running over Jongin’s knuckles. Jongin let out a content sigh. “Morning.”

Taemin leaned down the slightest bit, Jongin closing his eyes without thinking twice, but let them flutter open again after he didn’t feel the familiar soft push of Taemin’s lips against his.

He was met with Taemin’s face just inches away from his, their noses brushing had their heads been angled only a bit differently, a single eyebrow raised in awaiting notion. Jongin rolled his eyes halfheartedly, though stretching his neck up to meet Taemin in the middle, finally connecting their lips.

The languid slide of their lips together made Jongin unable to think, unable to feel anything outside their shared space. It made Jongin’s every wall crumble, made him yearn for that _last bit_ that he hadn’t named, doesn’t know _how_ to name, except-

“I love you,” is what he breathed into the minimal space between their lips once they pulled away, and Taemin placed a kiss on his cheek, his jawline, the corners of his lips, his mouth; grabbed Jongin’s hand and brought it up, brushed his lips over each knuckle, too. Jongin felt his every breath scratch along his throat as Taemin left fleeting pecks back up his neck, placed a firmer kiss on the bruise adorning the skin, continued until his lips were brushing the shell of Jongin’s ear.

A whisper, a sentence, a lifetime. “I love you, too.”

Taemin pulled farther away. Jongin relaxed his neck and let his head fall back against the pillow. Reading Taemin was easy now; his eyes reflecting the same constellations of feelings Jongin had in his chest, his smile holding every secret Jongin had promised to keep to himself. Taemin’s breathy laugh made Jongin’s smile widen even more, made him brush his fingers along Taemin’s cheek, desperate to someday be able to recite every tiniest detail adorning his face by heart.

Taemin presses a kiss to Jongin’s palm, lets his lips linger against the skin, moves his hand to cover Jongin’s chest again.

Another breath, another beat of hearts, and Jongin lets himself fall.

( _This._ Love.)

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> anyone:  
> me: tHe sTrEeTLamPs OuTsiDe- 
> 
> anyway uhhh, more taekai! because there won't pass a day where i don't fucking cry about them.  
> taekai make some noise!!
> 
> i hope you liked this story. i tried some new things? i think? i tried making this a BIT more angsty, but i'm not really good at that. still, i had a lot of fun writing this, even if this idea was stuck in my drafts for MONTHS.  
> kudos and comments are VERY appreciated <3  
> thank you so much for reading. you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/nsftaemin)!


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